


Standing Trial

by lovingdefiance



Series: Hotel Scenes [4]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Armbinder, Ballet boots, Bondage, Foot Massage, Latex, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shoe Kink, Spanking, Strappado
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-23 00:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingdefiance/pseuds/lovingdefiance
Summary: Kneeling on the carpet before him, Saihara paused to stare up at him with an air that was almost worshipful. “Well?” Oma asked, tilting his head and grinning wickedly. “What are you waiting for?” He shifted one foot, toes planted on the floor, the spire of his heel digging into the thin carpet. “Lace ‘em up.”At the hands of Mister Detective, Oma discovers that some boots aren't made for walking.





	Standing Trial

**Author's Note:**

> **Standing trial** \- To appear in court; to submit to the jurisdiction of the court. Also a brilliant pun. What do you mean, it's not particularly brilliant?
> 
> This is really just straightforward PWP. If you like that sort of thing, I hope you will enjoy it.

“Well, Saihara-chan, is it everything you thought it’d be?” Oma asked in a lordly fashion, throwing his arms wide in a grandiose gesture. “Worshipping my feet in a place like this?”

“Uh…” Saihara shook his head, bemused. Oma, he thought with a touch of wryness, could maintain his composure in the most ridiculous situations. Even perched on the tacky leather couch of the love hotel, Oma retained the aura of a ruler astride a throne, louche and casually demanding. His hair fell in soft swoops around his bare white shoulders, the lean lines of his frame tapering down to the pale columns of his legs. “I suppose so,” he admitted against his better judgment.

Oma giggled in evident delight, laying his arms down across the back of the couch and leaning back in an ostentatious display. “I thought so! And y’know...we’re just getting started.” Slowly, under Saihara’s hands, his legs were becoming engulfed in violet latex ballet boots. The impossibly high stiletto spires of the heels would hold his feet fixed at a difficult angle, _en pointe_, his toes planted on the ground and made to bear all of his weight. Saihara could tell just by looking at the heels that standing would be an ordeal for him, could imagine the way his legs would shake beneath even the slightness of his own body despite his current cavalier attitude. A nervous thrill rose in his stomach at the image.

Kneeling on the carpet before Oma, preparing to watch him so tenuously balanced, Saihara paused to stare up at him with an air that was almost worshipful. “Well?” Oma asked, tilting his head and grinning wickedly. “What are you waiting for?” He shifted one foot, toes planted on the floor, the spire of his heel digging into the thin carpet. “Lace ‘em up.”

“Ah…” Saihara bent to his work again, lacing the boot around Oma’s knee and wrapping the latex around his pale thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, so close to the shining violet that his breath misted on it for the briefest moment. Almost naked, Oma radiated confidence that Saihara could not match even in full uniform.

The stiff flaps of the thigh-high ballet boots closed around Oma’s slim leg with each curl of dark bootlace around black hook, deep purple latex tight around his ankles and smoothing around the muscles of his calves with each pull. He gazed down at Saihara through half-lidded and lustrous eyes, smiling almost absently as Saihara enclosed his leg.

“Huh. Awestruck by my glamour, right?” A soft hand stroked his hair, twirling around a long, delicate finger the unruly lock of hair that always poked up. Saihara’s fingers faltered for a moment on the simple bow he constructed atop Oma’s thigh. “‘Kay, I’ll forgive you. You can keep both your eyes for now, but next time I catch you staring...”

“Thank you,” he said a bit dryly. Taking a deep breath, Saihara moved to the other leg and lifted the impossible toe and heel of the ballet boot into his lap to lace it tightly, immovably around the bones of Oma’s other ankle. Strongly-built as it was, it had to support his weight when he stood. Saihara kept the laces tight as they traveled up the length of his other calf, deep violet latex glinting on the pretty curve of muscle.

Wrapping the bootlaces around the hooks was strangely calming. It was a hypnotic sensation, working away under Oma’s placid regard.

Saihara took the boot in his hands when he was done, curling one hand reverently around the heel and one below the arch of Oma’s foot, and set it on the floor like something precious. Oma liked that, he knew - being treated with such absurd care was something he found amusing. Saihara withdrew and knelt on the floor before the chair. For a long moment he gazed at the play of light on the shiny material before letting his eyes travel up, lingering for another long moment on the place where sleek, glistening violet met the porcelain flesh of Oma’s thighs, the deep plum curls of hair nestled around his balls and the base of his cock where it hung soft at Saihara’s eye level.

“Mm, not bad. But I think there’s some dust on it, isn’t there?”

“Where?” Oma lifted one foot and offered it to him. He cradled it in one hand, inspecting the pretty length of Oma’s leg as a flush climbed his throat.

“Are you blind, or just stupid? The toe. Right...there,” Oma crooned, smiling imperiously as he shifted his body, prodding the tip of the boot against Saihara’s mouth. Saihara felt the flush reach his cheeks as he lowered his face. “That’s right,” Oma said, his voice going soft. Saihara parted his lips, his breath misting again on the latex before he pressed his tongue to it.

It was new, of course, smelling and tasting sharply of rubber. The surface felt slick against his tongue, a little tacky against his lips as, feeling Oma’s eyes fixed on him, he shyly kissed it. Oma pressed harder as though demanding attention and he moved up, worshipping the delicate curve of the instep, cradling Oma’s ankle. It felt surprisingly intimate, all the fine stitching and the details of the dark bootlaces wrapped around the matte black hooks, the impossible curve Oma’s foot had been forced into. It was easy not to think, under the circumstances - this was what Oma wanted from him, and he bent down to press his lips to the gleaming purple tip of the boot again as arousal curled low in his belly.

“Nishishi,” Oma cackled abruptly, clapping his hands in delight. Saihara sat upright with a startled jerk of his head, feeling the heat radiating from his face as the world opened up again to reveal Oma grinning wickedly down at him. “Wow, Saihara-chan’s a natural foot slave. Who knew you were really _into_ that kinda stuff, huh? Welllll, except me. I could see through you from a million miles away...” He leaned forward, the latex squeaking softly in the silence of the room. “But that’s not what we’re here for, huh? That can come after.”

Saihara smiled despite the blush flaring hot across his cheeks. “Right,” he agreed a little shyly, rising to his feet again and sitting beside Oma on the couch. Oma turned away from him, shifting on the couch to reveal the pale contours of his spine and shoulder blades, and obligingly placed his arms behind his back.

“We’re here so Mister Detective can play rough with me,” Oma sang. “It’s about time _someone_ put me in my place, right?” Saihara picked up the matching latex armbinder from the arm of the sofa and carefully slid it up Oma’s forearms, wrapping them snugly in the violet cuffs and starting the process of tightly lacing them together. “If you’ve got it in you to lay down the law, Mister Detective. I’m still not convinced.”

Careful as Saihara was not to overextend Oma’s shoulders or elbows, he admired the way the armbinder drew Oma’s shoulders back and pressed the bony arches of his scapulae together, casting soft shadows. The glinting violet stood out sharp and beautiful against his skin, the crisp black hooks and laces stark against his arms and the fine bones of his delicate hands.

Oma had, he noticed, stopped talking. “Is this okay?” he asked experimentally, pressing at Oma’s shoulders to feel the limited range of motion he had been left. Oma shivered at that, flexing his own elbows slightly as though testing the tightness of the restraints. Saihara hooked a finger in the metal rings adorning the ends of the cuffs, one at each of Oma’s inner wrists, and pulled his arms back. “Your muscles won’t cramp like this, will they, Oma-kun?”

“Nope,” he said, surprisingly subdued with his arms tied. Saihara touched one of his hands, left exposed outside the tight forearm cuff, in an unspoken question. “It’s not too tight,” he responded. There was something demure about his pose, perched sideways on the couch with his impossibly arched feet barely touching the floor, his arms bound behind him. “Looks like you got your man, Mister Detective! Now what are you gonna do with me, huh?” The familiar name kindled something in him, raising his courage enough that Saihara released Oma’s hand and reached up to touch his hair instead, stroking and then slowly closing his hand around a handful close to the scalp. In the silence of the room he could hear Oma catch his breath.

Saihara took a deep breath of his own at the squeak of latex, Oma’s reflexive twitch as his hair was tugged in warning. He kept his grip gentle but firm as he stood up from the couch, pulling at the soft curls clenched in his fist, urging Oma up.

“Please stand,” Saihara said politely as he drew Oma up on the delicate stilts of his heels, perched on the tips of his toes. Almost immediately Oma gritted his teeth, his legs quivering beneath him. “Oma-kun?” he asked, releasing his hair and walking around to stand in front of him.

Oma leveled a glare at him, all at once perfectly in character - Saihara could tell at once that he was uncomfortable in the strict restraints, the tight boots that forced his feet into a difficult position. Pain always placed Oma in that state of mind, sharp and defiant, ready for whatever Saihara could give him. His legs stabilized beneath him. He straightened up with a shaky breath, almost Saihara’s height once brought up to his tiptoes.

Bound as he was, there was nothing he could do as Saihara stroked his hair back down into its usual swooping arcs, admiring the way Oma’s pulled-back arms left the lean, lightly-muscled lines of his torso exposed completely to touch. It was simple to curl a hand around his lower back and urge his spine into an arch, watching his latex-sheathed thighs strain beautifully. His bony shoulders pulled back as his teeth gritted.

“Feels good,” he breathed, and despite the lustrous look in his half-lidded eyes it was an obvious lie as his legs trembled again. “Do your worst, Mister Detective…” Saihara released him and reached down instead to curl his hand around Oma’s hardening cock, squeezing and giving him a few lazy pulls until he jutted out dusky and hard and wanting. Off-balance, Oma could do nothing more than to stand in place on shivering legs and accept touch, to endure Saihara’s hands patiently exciting him.

“Is that also good?” he asked. Despite himself, he felt a blush mounting to his own face again. Regardless of how awkwardly it had come to him, especially at first, watching Oma in this condition was something he could enjoy. More than that, it was something he could do for Oma. “Do you want more?”

“Mm…” Oma tilted his head, fixing Saihara with a challenging stare. “So this is your idea of torture, huh? Some kinda good cop, bad cop routine where you’re playing both cops?” He snickered uncharitably, tilting his head and widening his eyes in mock curiosity. “What’s your plan, Mister Detective, now that I’m not gonna run away on you?”

“Ah, you’ll see,” Saihara promised. “Turn around. Away from me.”

“Gonna pat me down now?” he asked, his voice saccharine. “Make sure I’m not hiding anything up these sleeves? Hmmm…sure, Mister Detective!” Despite his words, his motions were jerky as he lifted up a foot and wobbled on the other heel. Even the simple act of turning toward the couch unbalanced him on the high spire of the remaining heel; he planted his other foot down and finished the turn, his body slightly hunched as though correcting for the encumbrance of his bound arms. Saihara walked to the St. Andrew’s cross against the wall, reaching behind it to retrieve the next element of his scene from where it dangled against the back of the wooden structure.

“Now walk over to me, Oma-kun.” While Oma heaved a theatrical sigh and worked at turning himself back around, Saihara tested the chain in his hands and the carabiner attached to the end, tugging at it where it was affixed to a beam of the ceiling. The carabiner hung at about shoulder height; the black chain had been almost invisible against the dark wall behind the cross.

“Make up your mind, already!” Oma said, but the playfulness in his tone was uneven and his turn back toward Saihara was no more graceful than his turn away. He wobbled unsteadily on his straining legs even when his other foot was firmly planted. His expression tensed with effort. The tiptoe stance pushed his lower back forward as he straightened up, made his back arch as though to display his lithe body.

“Does it hurt?” asked Saihara, keeping his voice neutral. Oma shot a look at him and continued forward on his shaking legs, shoulders back and chest forward, weaving across the floor until he was close enough to touch. Saihara watched each quivering step, the way Oma seemed not to know what to do with the long black heels jutting down toward the floor as he nearly stumbled on one, his gait uneven and faltering. It was a new side of Oma to admire, all his grace stripped away and replaced with something awkward, unsteady.

“Nope,” Oma gritted out as he leveled a fierce look into Saihara’s eyes, perspiration standing out on his forehead. His knees were bent slightly, uselessly toward one another, as though trying to take the weight from his feet.

“That’s a lie, isn’t it?” Saihara walked around him and hooked a finger in the metal rings of his armbinder.

“Ah-!” Oma nearly stumbled again on the twin spikes of his heels as Saihara turned him around, piloting him by pulling at his bound arms. He breathed harder as he established his balance again, taking a moment for his composure to settle in a way that made Saihara’s heart skip a nervous beat. “You’re so mean,” he sniffled. “What if I tripped and broke my leg? You’d have to shoot me like a horse, uwaaaah-”

Saihara cleared his throat to interrupt the incoming tears. “Maybe t-this…” He took another breath. “Maybe this is what happens when you lie to the police, Oma-kun.” Keeping his hands steady, he lifted Oma’s bound arms up behind him and forced him to lean forward on the impossible shoes, his legs trembling with the effort of balancing. The dangling carabiner clipped into the rings and Oma’s arms were aloft in a strappado position, held up behind him by the chain from the ceiling. His body bent forward, forced into a brutal angle.

“Lying to - are you saying you’re punishing me for _lying_?” Oma asked, but his voice had lost its loftiness; he sounded quieter, strained. “That’s what sets Mister Detective off in this scene?” Oma liked many things, Saihara had discovered. He liked to be worshipped and treated tenderly, but he also liked to be handled and given manageable amounts of pain, and the expression on his face when Saihara walked around to look at him was something that made all the preparation worthwhile. His lips had parted for deep breaths as he suffered the stiffness in his feet and his shaking legs, his eyes hazy but still defiant, glaring into Saihara’s.

“Yes, that works. Let’s agree that you’ll be let out as soon as you tell the truth?” offered Saihara, examining the way he trembled. Brilliant as he was, Oma’s body had never been strong; almost immediately he struggled to keep himself steady in the difficult position, his teeth gritting as he held his back straight. Saihara looked for a long moment at the smooth, shiny violet of the armbinder laced tight around his arms, his hands curled into helpless fists, his latex-sheathed legs tense and nearly straight with the effort of balance. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Nnh…” Oma shook his head, gaze sharpening and piercing him with a knowing look. “Feels great, Mister Detective!”

“I understand,” he said, reaching beneath Oma and pinching one dark nipple. Oma grunted at the mild stimulation but held steady, his eyes squeezing shut as Saihara worked his chest, stroking and tweaking until both nipples stood out in firm peaks beneath his fingers. He leveled his gaze at Oma until Oma looked back up at him, made sure Oma’s lilac eyes were fixed on him as he produced the black, weighted clover clamps from his pocket.

Saihara waited for a moment, anticipating some pithy remark, but Oma stayed silent as his quivering pupils fixed on the shiny weights swinging from Saihara’s fingers. It was surprising how quickly physical strain chipped at his composure; he trembled in the restraints, raising one knee and then the other in brief, fruitless efforts to shift his weight in a way that would give his straining limbs relief, and the only sound that came from him was the ragged noise of his breath. He let out a muffled grunt as Saihara closed the metal clamp around one nipple. The second one drew nothing but a harsh breath out of him as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, his body quaking as the weights swung freely beneath him. 

It wouldn’t be possible to keep him in such a difficult position for long, Saihara thought, no matter how stubborn he could be about it. He curled his hand in Oma’s hair to lift up his face, found him dazed and sweating with effort despite his silence. “You’re doing so well, Oma-kun,” he said softly, pleased to see Oma’s mouth twitch into a small, smug grin. “Does it hurt now?”

Oma shook his head despite the hand clamped in his hair, but his head dropped back down as soon as Saihara released him. Saihara walked around behind him and shyly admired the way the pose displayed the pale contours of his ass. The lines of his back drew taut and straining with effort, his bony shoulders pulled back. He twitched at the touch of Saihara’s hand between his shoulder blades and shivered at the gentle stroke of fingers down his bowed spine. His skin felt smooth and cool, faintly clammy with perspiration. Saihara stroked and squeezed the tense muscle of one buttock. 

“You’re still lying, aren’t you?” he asked gently. “Does it hurt now, Oma-kun?”

“Nope,” Oma breathed, shivering, and despite the lie Saihara could see clearly what his body anticipated. Willing to provide it, Saihara let his hand linger for a long moment before raising it and bringing it down in a flat-palmed slap on the soft, white curve of his ass. Oma jerked and quivered, breathing hard. Saihara paused for a long moment, waiting for him to respond. “Nngh, Mister Detective…” Oma shifted his weight. “You think...a renowned thief like me hasn’t had...worse punishment than that?” he grated out, voice made harsh by the roughness of his breath.

“Ah...I should try harder?” Saihara asked, his voice level and calm, and raised his hand to deliver another stinging open-palmed blow. Oma twitched, shifting his weight from one arched foot to the other and letting out a stifled noise at the third slap. Soft pink bloomed across the tender skin as Saihara struck his tense, quivering flesh again and again with the flat of one hand, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to bring blood rushing to the surface of his skin, suffusing his pale flesh with a bright flush. Oma’s bound hands uncurled and curled again into tighter fists.

“Nngh,” he groaned, shifting his feet again as the chain jingled above him. Saihara stroked the sensitive, tingling skin with the tips of his fingers, feeling the heat of Oma’s blood radiating from his flesh, before urging his thighs apart. Forced forward as he was, it was easy for Saihara to drip cold lubricant on his tailbone and earn a gasp from him, letting the chilled fluid work its way between the delicately pinking skin of his buttocks down to his dusky, twitching hole. He ran lubricated fingers over it, feeling the tense muscle beneath his fingers and watching Oma’s legs quiver as he slipped one and then two fingers inside.

Oma grunted but held steady, his arms still aloft, his fists white-knuckled as Saihara carefully fingered him open. He was tense and strained but so feverishly warm inside, hot and tight, and Saihara ached with the desire to fuck him just like that - teetering precariously on the impossible boots, his arms bound and motionless, his body shaking with effort. Instead he pulled a plastic plug from his other pocket and lubricated it before gently pushing the taper of it into the twitching hole, in and out until Oma’s clenching body drew it from his fingers.

Oma squirmed helplessly as Saihara pressed his fingers against the violet plug to push it again and again against the taut spread of his hole. The feeling of shallow penetration should be frustrating, he thought, and from the way that Oma shifted and panted audibly it seemed to be the truth. “_Ahhhn_,” he finally groaned, shifting his weight in small, desperate motions from foot to foot, and Saihara looped an arm around him before unclipping the carabiner from his arms. “You’ll never...you’ll never get away with this, Mister Detective,” he breathed. Saihara almost smiled, admiring the pink curve of his rump; the words were too obviously a distraction from the genuine moan Saihara had earned from him, the way his body trembled. Coming from Oma, it was as good as a direct compliment.

“Here,” he whispered. “Oma-kun, haven’t I already gotten away with it?” He helped Oma back into an upright position, admiring the sweat gleaming on his forehead and in the hollow of his throat as he walked around to see his flushed, tense face. “Does it hurt?” he asked, watching the way Oma’s knees slightly bent in an attempt to take the pressure from his ankles. Oma said nothing but shook his head in a slightly disjointed motion, panting softly. “You can rest,” he offered, “if you’re able to make it to the bed.”

The distance looked short from the couch to the bed, the sort of thing Oma would normally dash in seconds and cover with a tremendous leap. Oma wavered on the stilts of his heels instead, his legs obviously weakening with his body penetrated. Saihara watched his drawn expression grow serious with resolve.

Saihara walked the small distance to sit down on the bed himself, watching Oma move. Even one faltering step made him shiver in his restraints, the plastic cool and unyielding inside him, and forced his back straight as the heels raised his posture. “Oma-kun looks really good like this,” Saihara said softly, genuinely, watching his latex-sheathed legs take another step. He walked like a wind-up toy, the clamps and their shining weights swinging from his purpling nipples, and Saihara knew by the hazy, half-focused expression in his eyes that the plug was working inside him with each shaking motion forward. Every single awkward brush of heel against floor was another reason to clench his body tight around it.

His breath came in ragged bursts as he approached, his body obviously straining with the effort of holding himself upright and walking through the pain. “I’m using this side of the bed,” Saihara said softly as Oma drew nearer on exhausted legs. Oma stared at him with building incredulity, his defiance and resolve visibly shaken as he looked at the diameter of the circular mattress. “So would you please walk around to the other side?” Oma’s knees bent as though he would collapse for a moment before he straightened up again, his eyes closing tight.

“That’s nothing,” he said in a valiant attempt at cockiness, his eyelids rising again into a cold, imperious glare. Saihara reached into his pocket and thumbed the button of the remote there. Oma cried out in a raw voice as the plug began to buzz rhythmically inside him, his knees half-buckling.

“Does it hurt now?” Saihara asked gently. Oma straightened up despite a full-body shudder, taking a quivering step as his progress slowed. Even leaning on the bed was impossible with his arms tightly bound behind him. He had no choice but to continue his unsteady journey around the bed on jellied legs, his lips parted in helpless, panting breaths as he stumbled and nearly collapsed across the carpet. He caught himself with one heel jabbed into the rug, his body quaking as he drew himself back up on his toes again.

Saihara crawled across the bed and perched on the other side to watch his approach a second time, the bright flush on his cheeks, the way his legs quivered and twitched as though struggling not to press together with every faltering step. His expression was unguarded, finally, flushed and desperate and streaked with sweat.

“Nope,” he breathed in a low, raw voice as he arrived. “Feels great.” Saihara reached out to grip his flagging cock and stroked him again, leaning down from his seat on the bed to suck gently at the tip. Oma firmed beneath the touch, the plug stimulating him from behind and Saihara patiently working the length of his cock to excite him back into full hardness. “Back to being the good cop again?” Oma asked breathlessly, as though it could conceal the way his legs trembled. “N-ni...shishi…”

Saihara pulled back and smiled, standing up from the bed and walking around Oma’s shivering body. “Yes,” he said gently. “But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

He stroked Oma’s sweat-damp hair before planting a palm on his back and pushing; Oma crumpled forward with a throaty, genuine scream as his weight pressed forward onto his toes, his knees buckling, his body collapsing halfway onto the bed and unable to catch himself as his face fell to the mattress. “Ah,” he gasped, writhing and kicking in an attempt not to slide from the satiny sheets.

Saihara watched him struggle. Tied as he was, Oma was unable to crawl fully onto the mattress without help, incapable of doing anything but squirming and planting his arched feet on the floor to keep his upper half on the bed.

“Do you need help, Oma-kun?” Saihara watched Oma balance himself on the impossible heels, his hips forced up as though to present himself. The vibrating plug’s base gleamed from his spread hole, the armbinder and boots glinting around his encased limbs, and Saihara finally reached down to unbutton his own uniform pants. He eased his cock free with a sigh and reached out toward the violet plug.

“_Aaaahn_,” Oma moaned instead of answering, helpless against the fingers probing around the base of the plug, working it out of him in a series of careful pulls and pushes as his shaking legs struggled to hold him steady. Saihara finally slipped it out and set it to the side, switching it off before probing into him again with lubed fingers. “Mister Detective,” he gasped, “_please_-” Saihara held his hips steady, lifting him up, and Oma let out a strange, sobbing groan as the weight eased from his feet. Saihara stared in awe at the way he let himself go, leaning his weight forward into the mattress, so easily allowing his body to be handled. Vulnerable, he had no choice but to entrust the whole of himself to Saihara’s hands.

“What did you need, Oma-kun?” he asked, and set him carefully back down.

“Wait-!” Oma shrieked as his weight settled back onto his toes. “Ah, aaah-”

“Please, just a moment.” Saihara produced a foil packet from his pocket, rolling the condom over himself and giving his own cock a few strokes before pressing the tip against Oma’s presented hole, rubbing the blunt end of it against the twitching, clenching muscle. Held up by the boots and his unrecoverable posture, Oma could do nothing but present for him and squirm on the bed. He whimpered as the head of Saihara’s cock breached him, working into him inch by inch as he writhed and cried out all at once in a startlingly desperate voice. “Would you like me to hold you up?” Saihara asked, struggling to keep his own voice calm against the pleasure coursing up his spine as Oma’s unsteady body clenched around him.

“N-nope,” Oma panted, his voice faint but defiant. As always, Saihara was amazed by his toughness. Even small thrusts into the tight channel of his ass forced sobbing noises from his mouth as he was rocked forward onto his aching feet, the clamps pulling mercilessly at his nipples where they pressed into the bed, but despite what must have been torture Oma withstood the pressure. Saihara let the pleasure build up in his own body, the desperate clench of Oma around him more than enough to bring him closer and closer.

The pale curve of his back looked beautiful as ever, the sight of Saihara’s cock vanishing into his spread hole incredible, and just as Saihara began to wonder if Oma would outlast him he heard Oma’s sobs forming choked, desperate words. “Nngh, ah, _ahh_,” Oma breathed, his eyes closed tight, his hands balled again into helpless fists behind him as Saihara thrust into the spasming tightness of his hole. “Saihara-chan, my feet, I can’t-” He shuddered and writhed, a sudden breath erupting from him as though he lacked the strength to hold it in. “Ah, it hurts, pick me up!”

“Oma-kun,” he said at once, his voice hurried but gentle. “I understand.” Saihara slipped out of him immediately and pushed him forward on the sheets, his boots leaving the floor in one sudden motion. It was easy to flip him over, the latex of the boots sticking to the sweat coating Saihara’s palms and squeaking as Oma was turned unceremoniously onto his back atop his bound arms. The weights still hanging from his nipples hung heavy on both sides of his heaving chest.

He knew that the pain in Oma’s feet would remain, that the blood rushing into his cramped, pressed-down toes would throb and burn unbearably as soon as the weight was removed. Knowing did nothing to prepare him for the way that Oma’s pupils dilated with the sensation as they fixed on him, the way his lips parted on a breathless cry as Saihara lifted his latex-sheathed legs up, one on each shoulder, and fucked mercilessly into the slick heat of him again. The shining latex squeaked against his arms and the spires of Oma’s heels pointed harmlessly toward the wall, his arms still tightly bound behind him as Saihara jostled him hard against the bed with every thrust, tears overflowing the corners of his eyes and streaming down into his hair.

“Ah,” Oma sobbed, writhing helplessly as Saihara rocked him into the mattress, “ngh! _Ah_, Sai - Saihara-ch - _Saihara-chan_-” Saihara listened carefully through the haze of pleasure blurring his thoughts, but in all the broken noises coming from Oma’s mouth there was no hint of a command to stop.

“Oma-kun,” he grunted, releasing one leg to reach down and unclamp one pinched nipple. Oma threw his head back and _screamed_ as the blood rushed back to the bruised flesh, his body spasming helplessly around the cock splitting him wide, all his defiance dismantled and replaced with pure reaction. He watched Oma ride it out before reaching down and unclamping the other to pull another shriek out of his mouth, his head lolling to the side as though he had lost the strength to keep up. Every breath he took came out as a soft cry, his eyes tearful and desperate.

“Oma-kun is incredible,” Saihara panted, feeling the sweat on his own face as he brought himself closer and closer. Oma’s chest heaved as his gaze, hazed over with overstimulation, flicked back to Saihara’s rapt, hungry expression. His cock bobbed against his stomach with every thrust, dark-flushed and neglected.

“Feels...good?” he asked stupidly, his voice cracking. Saihara nodded and clutched convulsively at the latex sheathing Oma’s thighs, curling his fingers tight against the bootlaces and turning his head to press a kiss to the rubber encasing one shin. Oma shuddered and tilted his head back, the pale column of his throat exposed, and Saihara imagined lacing a violet latex posture collar around it - forcing his head up, immobilizing him that much more.

“So good,” he breathed harshly, “thank you, Oma-kun-” and with that image he went over the edge, closing his eyes tight and gritting his teeth against the burst of pleasure as he poured himself out in feverish jerks of his hips. He rode it out for a long moment, letting himself shiver and lose himself in it before coming back to himself and slipping out of the tight heat still clenching in spasms around him.

“Saihara-chan,” Oma breathed as Saihara’s mouth closed on his cock in a desperate motion, hands pushing his thighs unceremoniously apart. “Nngh…” He shifted restlessly on his bound arms, wriggling as Saihara sucked him off in rough, hungry motions, the bitter taste of precome blossoming at the back of his tongue.

Oma was helpless to touch him that way, helpless to move or to do anything but accept Saihara’s attention, and in every cracked fragment of sound that came from him Saihara could hear the pain and pleasure mingling in his voice. His head lolled from one side to the other as he made quiet, sobbing noises, his abdominal muscles fluttering before he suddenly released into Saihara’s waiting mouth with a final, shaking cry.

Saihara swallowed and sucked gently, closing a hand around one of Oma’s thighs and stroking the rubber. It was the end of the scene - it was safe, he thought, to be affectionate. Oma’s gaze fixed on the ceiling lights, his legs limp and dangling off the edge of the bed, the heels mercifully clear of the floor. Saihara let him lie for a minute as he fetched a chilled water bottle from the minifridge, finding Oma aware again upon his return.

It was the work of a moment to shift Oma’s bound form up against the headboard of the bed. “Okay?” he asked softly, gratified when Oma gave him a nod and an unsteady grin before taking a long drink from the bottle of water that Saihara pressed against his lips. Saihara screwed the cap back on the bottle before kneeling between Oma’s splayed legs to take one boot into his hands, reaching up to pull the knot of the laces free.

Even sitting on the bed, Oma squirmed in discomfort, trying futilely to move his feet in the tight confines; Saihara unlaced the boots quickly, drawing the latex away from Oma’s thigh and working his way down to free his leg and foot. Oma flexed his knee, straightened out his foot, and curled his toes as soon as Saihara pulled the boot off. Each motion pulled a hiss of pain from between his gritted teeth.

“Just a moment,” Saihara said softly, already working on the other leg. The violet latex peeled from his clammy skin, the smell of rubber and fresh sweat mingling as Saihara worked his other foot tenderly free of the boot. He set the boots aside, placing them on the floor beside the bed.

“C’mon,” Oma said, prodding Saihara with his toes. “Foot slaaave…” The sound of his voice remained unsteady, but his spirits were already returning; as always, Oma’s endurance was something incredible. Saihara smiled indulgently, curling his hands around the closest foot and pressing gently into the sole with his thumbs. “Oh, _man_...that makes it all worth it,” he breathed. His head dropped back against the headboard as his toes curled and uncurled. Saihara ground his thumbs patiently into the delicate arch of his foot, working out the residual cramps, gently squeezing and bending each toe as Oma groaned in obvious pleasure.

“Is that a little better, Oma-kun?” he asked, kneading patiently until Oma went limp against the headboard with a long, dramatic sigh.

“Mmm, yep…” Saihara cupped his instep in one hand to grind the knuckles of his other hand into Oma’s heel, then into the balls of his feet, the fine bones shifting gently beneath the force. “I had fun with Saihara-chan,” he said, wiggling the toes of his other foot and wincing. “Owie…”

“I’m…I’m really glad,” Saihara said as he switched obligingly over to the other foot, patiently massaging the tension out and grinding it away until Oma went boneless, his legs spreading limply out to either side of Saihara’s seated body. His feet were surprisingly smooth and soft, the soles tender and yielding, but his skin had gone pink from the heat and friction of the latex; Saihara stroked both thumbs hard up the lengths of his delicate soles again and again, worshipping the cramped muscles and tendons until Oma giggled and squirmed in pleasure.

Moving up, Saihara found that Oma’s slim ankle fit neatly into his hand. He squeezed, not knowing what to do to soothe the joints; Oma let out a whimper and Saihara pressed again and again at the bones of his ankles in response, not kneading but offering a gentle, even pressure. Squeezing the sore, tense muscles of his calves earned an outright, throaty moan of relief, a restless shifting on the satiny sheets. Oma squirmed again as Saihara finally pressed careful hands into his thighs, working the quadriceps that he had watched trembling and encased. His lips curled into a delirious grin, his head lolling back as he let out a long, vocal sigh.

“It feels good,” he mumbled. “It’s really good, Saihara-chan…” Saihara knelt for leverage, kneading the strain from Oma’s thighs with the heels of his hands. His spent cock twitched at the stimulation and Saihara shot a questioning glance up at him. It was rare for aftercare to become sexual; Oma shook his head and smiled. “I’m satisfied,” he murmured, his smile broadening into a grin. "Let's play some more later, when I'm not so gross and sticky. But, y'know...my feet are _really_ sore, and it's all your fault, so would my beloved carry me to the bath?”

“Ah…yes, of course.” Saihara stood up and Oma shifted, uncurling his legs across the mattress. Saihara grunted as he lifted the petite Oma, surprisingly dense with muscle, into his arms.

“‘Cause Saihara-chan _did_ prepare the bath for me, right?” Oma crooned, still wickedly grinning. “Like a good foot slave, riiiight?”

“Of course,” he repeated wryly, squeezing the pale thigh beneath his hand until Oma yelped and cackled in his ear, and made his way from the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Deleted dialogue: "And one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over _[you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbyAZQ45uww)_, Mister Detective! But not really, 'cause I'm not going anywhere in these things."


End file.
